


Focus

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dagor Bragollach, Gap Filler, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-07 11:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5455574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the Dagor Bragollach, it's up to Maedhros to save what he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Focus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theeventualwinner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theeventualwinner/gifts).



> Many thanks to amyfortuna for beta reading this.

“Your Highness, the scout from the south is back,” one of the guards announced, squeezing past the throng of officers and aides awaiting orders.

“Lead her here,” Maedhros said, eyes fixed on he map laid open on a table in the middle of the encampment set up hastily just north of the Pass of Aglon. He was still debating with himself where it would be best to place the new garrisons, a tricky decision given the conflicting opinions of his officers and the current state of the army. He didn't have soldiers to spare, nor time. He had been up for days, leading forays to clean up the hills of any surviving orcs and setting up a tentative new line of defences to make Himlad safe from attack again. Maglor stood next to him, looking only marginally less tired. Maedhros's second-in-command, Elthedir, rolled a quill nervously in his hands, ready to mark on the map the spots Maedhros would decide upon.

The scout came forward with consternation written on her wind-burnt face. Maedhros tensed as he caught a glimpse of her hollow eyes, but nodded encouragingly to her, urging her to report whatever she had to report.

“Himlad still burns, my Lord. The routes east are all blocked. The only escape is west,” she said succinctly, words that confirmed all of Maedhros's worst fears.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement, a queasy dread setting in his gut. To the west lay the land where spiders thrived in gloom and mist, and for Celegorm and Curufin to escape through that with a battered army and terrified civilians while pursued by orcs was tantamount to a death sentence. He berated himself for not having been able to get to the Pass sooner. He couldn't count on his brothers getting any help from Doriath, either.

He tapped his fingers on the stained, worn map. He hesitated, raising and flexing his right shoulder as he unconsciously did whenever he was troubled. After a time, he spoke again. “You weren't able to see any people?”

“No, my Lord. The smoke is too thick.”

Maedhros looked up and met Maglor's gaze. Maglor remained outwardly impassive. His worry manifested in his posture and the way his hand curled around the hilt of his sword, signs Maedhros could read all too easily.

Maglor had managed to cut his way through enemy lines and get to Himring, and together they had pushed back the orcs that attacked the fortress. After that, they set out to clean the March, pursuing the orcs west, and stopping their flow down the Pass of Aglon with the help of the few survivors of Aegnor and Angrod's people, who had managed to cross the mountains east. They had also been able to save a few archers from the garrisons Celegorm and Curufin had kept near the Pass, though most were heavily wounded.

At least they knew Caranthir and the twins were safe. Maglor himself had ordered Caranthir to take his people south when the orcs had started poisoning Lake Helevorn, sending the unarmed part of his own people with him, and holding out for as long as he could to facilitate their escape. Caranthir's flight had been through open territory and through forests, all luckily orc-free, and Amrod and Amras's people had joined him on the banks of the river Gelion. A message had arrived only a few hours earlier stating that they had made it to Amon Ereb, that their losses were not too heavy, and that the orcs had been prevented from breaking into Ossiriand.

They still had some leverage to strike back.

Maedhros clung to that thought to rein in his worry, and turned towards the scout, who had remained standing just next to the table. “Rest for now. Report again in the morning.”

The woman bowed and turned on her heels, relaxing her shoulders with a grateful sigh. The crowd once again parted to let her pass, then all eyes rested on Maedhros again. 

“Gilrínel,” he called, locking his gaze with the dark-skinned woman who stepped forward. “Ride to Himring and order the standing garrison there to march here as fast as they can.”

“But Your Highness, we cannot leave the fortress unguarded,” Gilrínel replied, meeting Maedhros's eyes without flinching. 

“We won't. Arm all able-bodied people of sufficient years who aren't smiths or farmers and train them. You have trained many soldiers already, I trust your expertise. We need rested but expert soldiers to guard the pass here, while Macalaurë and I ride East to close the gap again. Also plant as much of Yavanna's corn as you can, wherever it will grow...on rooftops too.” 

Maedhros took hold of Gilrínel's right arm and squeezed it. Gilrínel had been one of his father's closest friends, one of the very few surviving, one of the few stable presences he could still rely on. She nodded, squeezing his arm in turn, and whirled around to carry out his orders.

“Hithfaer,” Maedhros called then, “send your best scouts to scour the mountains again, make sure no orcs eluded us. Have them look for medicinal herbs too, while they're at it.”

Hithfaer bowed and left. 

“Close the Gap?” Maglor said, as Maedhros turned back towards the table. 

“We cannot allow orcs to take hold of East Beleriand. It would be our end. If we keep them out, we can strike back. Doriath won't come out and help, but Amrod, Amras and Caranthir can advance again from Amon Ereb once they have made sure their civilians are safe.” 

Maedhros's fingers tapped five spots along the width of the Pass on the map. Elthedir quickly dipped the quill in the inkwell and marked them. The officers saluted Maedhros as he passed among them, clustering then around Elthedir to receive their orders. 

Maedhros headed towards the healers' tent, his stride nervous. 

Maglor followed him. 

“I doubt the archers have any information on Turco and Curvo's retreat,” he said, when they had left the gathering behind.

“I know,” Maedhros replied. “I just want to check on their condition.”

Maglor caught up with him and studied his profile. “You need rest. I will take care of things for a while. You can trust me.”

“I do trust you. I will rest after we've visited the wounded.” What kept Maedhros going was a sense of responsibility, along with the certainty that if he stopped moving, _doing_ , he would be lost. 

They walked the rest of the distance to the healers' tent in silence. Once there, Maedhros abruptly whirled towards Maglor, and stared intently, poignantly, at him for so long that Maglor grew uneasy. But in the end, he sighed and said: "I am very glad that you are with me, Cáno. Very glad.”

Maglor quickly took Maedhros's hand in his right, and brought it to his lips. “I know.”

Before they entered, Maedhros turned his gaze south-west, where Nan Dungortheb was. Maglor did the same. They could only see the snow-capped mountain tops which flanked the Pass from there. For all they knew Celegorm and Curufin could already be dead, or worse. Maglor gently tugged him forward. Maedhros gave him a weak smile. There wasn't anything they could do about it. 

The could only hope, and fight.


End file.
